


Terror at Westing Manor

by Kantayra of Yore (Kantayra)



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-09-04
Updated: 2002-09-03
Packaged: 2017-10-21 00:56:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/219138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kantayra/pseuds/Kantayra%20of%20Yore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Years after the terrible tragedy, the sole survivor of the 1892 massacre at Westing Manor tells the story of how she survived and true identities of her four captors. (A Darla/Angelus/Spike/Drusilla story focusing on Spike. Contains rape, violence.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Day, the First..._

It was but a few days after my seventeenth birthday that I first came into the employ of the Westing family. My street name thrown aside lest anyone be able to trace me to my former profession, I adopted the name and persona of Charlotte Hall, an upstanding and respectable servant girl. The Westings were far too naïve and unacquainted with the world around them to even question the verity of my identity, and I had lived a comfortable life as one of the upstairs maids for nearly a year before that fatal October day arrived.

The day of October the tenth, 1892 had been bright and crisp, the very picture of the cusp of autumn. At that time of year, however, the air around the Westing Estate turns bitter cold at dusk. And it was shortly after dusk that the incident began.

I will not lie to you, gentle reader; that night I feared for my life. My own experience with our captors began when the raven-haired beauty caught me on the back steps, grabbed me roughly by the hair, and all but dragged me into the sitting room where I was bound and gagged with the others.

I did, however, manage to have a few words with Annie, the downstairs maid and my only friend among the household staff, who had been present when the strangers first arrived. I fear that my memory of her exact words has deteriorated over the years, yet I will attempt to reproduce her words as accurately as I can recall them:

“It was so terrible, Lottie,” Annie cried against my shoulder. “Jennings heard the knock at the door, and when he opened it, the two of them was there. The fair-haired lady and gentleman. They said there’d been a carriage accident, they did; and that there was people injured. Well, Jennings tol’ them to come right in, and then the lady…she…she grabbed ‘im right by the throat. I swear, Lottie, she lifted ‘im clear off the ground like the Devil ‘imself had possessed her. The other one, the gentlemen, ‘e caught me by the arm an’ said that I should tell the two dark ones to come in or else the lady would get mighty irate and might do Jennings right in. What else could I do, Lottie? I had to let the Dark One in.

“He looked to be in a pretty bad way. The madwoman had to carry him in as he was bleeding so hard – all his clothes sticky brown, he looked like ‘e’d just been through a war. So I tried to ‘elp out, figuring that maybe they was just worried about their friend, is all. But then I heard this dreadful snap, and when I turned around I saw poor Jennings lying dead on the floor. An’-An’ then I looked to the woman, Lottie, and I knew then that it was Lucifer that was in her. She had horns and fangs and claws, and those eyes… They wasn’t human, Lottie, I swear!”

Regrettably, Annie broke down terribly at this point, and I had no further chance to speak with her about what had happened. The plan of attack seemed clear enough, however; once in the house, the demons captured everyone they could and gathered us all together in the sitting room. For my own part I only saw the three as they brought in various bound servants from all corners of the mansion, tied up like a mockery of birthday presents. The Dark One showed his face not once during this period, and I think that perhaps Annie was correct in her assessment that he was off elsewhere nursing his wounds.

While I later learned many of the reasons behind the actions of my captors, I will tell the tale as it played out before me in an effort to capture at least some of the uncertainty and raw terror that passed through my mind in those first few hours.

Everyone was panicked, and somewhat to my surprise I soon discovered that I was by far the most calm of the prisoners. I suppose the safe life the others had all led up until this point had in no way prepared them for the scent of death in the air. I, however, had faced the Grim Reaper in the eye many times before on the streets of London; and, while his presence always inspires fear, I had long since learned to function in spite of it.

Thus it was that my thoughts instantly turned to escape. I was tightly bound so that I could feel neither my feet nor hands after the first few minutes. Likewise, crying for help was out of the question. Even had I not been gagged, the nearest neighbor was nearly two kilometers away. Having quickly assessed that I would not escape under my own power for the time being, I searched for hope in others. Like a hawk, I watched the family I had lived with for the past few months as they were brought in, tallying up the total in my head and praying that at least one would escape and go bring assistance. We were not so fortunate. Several of those dragged in were obvious corpses, but the count evened out exactly. Our captors were nothing if not efficient.

It was as the final victim was brought in that the blonde lady stepped forward and spoke to us for the first time.

“Who here is the man of the house?” she demanded in a clear, precise tone.

I looked over to Mister Westing and discovered to that he was attempting to hide back into the corner. To tell the truth, I wasn’t really very much surprised. The Mister had always been a cowardly sort with a weak constitution. He was quite the bully, of course, but it was plain to the eye that his bark was far worse than his bite. And he was quite noticeably flinching in horror from this woman’s bite.

“Who is in charge?” the blonde beauty demanded again. She was dressed in the height of elegance – ruffles and elaborate corsets, the finest new bustle from France that the Missus had been going on about just last week, and the loveliest flowered hat I had ever laid eyes on. Her apparent elegance did not deceive me, though; no matter how high one rises, the signs of the profession always remain in a woman, and this one displayed them in spades.

Mister Westing failed to respond, of course, but one of the cooks – named Rose, I believe – began muttering through her gag. The black-haired lady knelt down before her and pulled the gag from her mouth.

“The mouse has something to say,” she drawled, turning to look at her mistress with wide mooneyes.

“Spit it out!” the blonde lady was looking more choleric by the second.

“M-Mister Westing,” Rose managed to stutter, nodding in our employer’s direction.

“That true?” the blonde lady gestured to the man in their group.

He quickly caught hold of our bound employer and yanked him to his feet, ripping the gag from his mouth. I felt sorry for Mister Westing then as he shook like a leaf in the stranger’s grasp.

“You the man of the house?” the blonde lady demanded, a murderous glint in her eye.

It took quite a while, but Mister Westing finally managed to stutter out that he was indeed.

“Took you long enough,” the blonde snapped impatiently. “Now, where’s your wife?”

To Missus Westing’s credit, she stood right up. The blonde quickly took her arm and ushered her from the room.

“Take him to Angelus,” she called back over her shoulder to the young gentleman.

He followed his mistress, leaving the rest of us alone with the raven-haired one for the first time. She was still sitting back on her heels in front of Rose – ‘a most unladylike position’ I heard one of the doormen foolishly utter later – and weaving her head back and forth in a most hypnotic pattern. It reminded me strangely of a foreigner who entertained in one of the seedier opium dens back in London. He had this great hooded serpent, and he would play his exotic flute for it while it wove back and forth in the exact same motion of this woman. She seemed to follow a rhythm unheard to us, but slowly and surely Rose succumbed to it as well. Soon, they were dancing together, gazes locked. I cannot even begin to describe how eerie it was, seeing the two of them swaying to their silent music. The stranger’s arms stretched out on both sides, flowing gracefully like a wraith’s wings, before they wrapped around Rose’s shoulders.

“Naughty, naughty,” she cooed with wicked glee. “Someone’s gotten all fat stealing from the pantry…” She waved two fingers back and forth in front of Rose’s face, and the cook’s eyes followed them as if she were mesmerized. And then, when her head was turned all the way to the side, her captor dove in for the kill.

Many of the servants fainted. Many more managed to scream right through their gags. It was a horror to behold, I will not deny it, but truth be told I had seen far worse; and, while one should never allow such events to seem any less traumatic, the shock value for me had long since gone. I watched intently as the dark woman with ghostly pale skin drunk deep from Rose’s exposed throat. My brow furrowed with the force of my concentration as I tried to recall exactly where I had heard of something of this sort before. A warning – of that, I was quite sure; and it seemed to me that I had been dimly aware somewhere deep down in my subconscious that creatures such as this existed.

Of more concern at the moment, however, was the return of the two other strangers, our Master and Missus, and the first appearance of the Dark One. He headed the group, blood stained all over his clothes, although no injury seemed to impair him. There was a most peculiar moment, when all faces were on him and all the servant girls – myself included – for one instant forgot the monstrosity that had just occurred before our very eyes and were enchanted by his appearance. A more handsome face most will never see. He looked soft, kind, soulful, the sort of man every woman dreams about from time to time. I flatter myself that I was the first to see past this façade; the lowering of his brow, the trickle of blood on his lips, the steely glare in his eyes, all these told me that this man was as cruel as he was beautiful.

“Having a nice bite to eat, Dru?” he said in a kindly voice to the woman that had just devoured Rose.

“Lovely, Daddy,” the dark-haired lady – Dru – replied. She let Rose’s corpse fall to the ground and rose gracefully to her feet, dancing about the room to a mysterious waltz.

The Dark One turned his attention to the prisoners at large. “Your Master and Mistress,” he said with a snarl, gesturing to his two companions behind him. They threw down the bodies of Mister and Missus Westing on either side of him, bleeding wounds just like Rose’s fresh on their throats.

Poor Emma, the Westing’s only daughter began sobbing uncontrollably. Several others shed tears as well, and I could see the hope fade in many eyes.

“Is the housekeeper here?” the Dark One demanded, then smiled an almost boyish grin when he saw the terror flash through Missus Adams’ eyes and knew she was the one. “Remove her gag,” he gestured to the blonde lady. She immediately obeyed his request, stilling any doubt that remained in my mind that he was the Master.

The blonde woman hauled Missus Adams up into a sitting position with supernatural strength. The unfortunate old woman could do nothing more than tremble in fright when the handkerchief was removed from her mouth and she was presented to the Dark One.

He looked at her quivering, broken form for a few seconds in disgust and then reached out with lightning speed to snap her neck. “OK, where’s the butler?” he said with great annoyance in his manner. “Maybe he’ll be more inclined to speak.” There was no response to his inquiry. “Well?” he persisted angrily. “Where is he?”

“We killed ‘im when we came in. Remember, Peaches?” This was spoken by the second man, and I must confess that this was the first time I had paid much attention to him. At first, he seemed fairly unremarkable…especially given that the other two captors I had been observing were women! I could not fail to notice him now, however, largely because he had spoken this line as he stood right behind me and I had not even heard him; I generally pride myself on being exceptionally observant, and I had been keeping close watch on the strangers, yet he had still eluded me. Even more distinctive was the familiar twang in his voice and the sardonic tone he had used when he was addressing his Master. It rather reminded me of the pinch that came into my own voice whenever Mister or Missus Westing had done something that I considered to be intolerably foolish.

The Dark One flashed him a commanding look but refrained from chastising his lack of respect. “All right then,” he let out a frustrated sigh. “Who wants to be in charge?”

I was most sorely tempted to volunteer. The first few killings had been a warning, I knew – a message as to what would happen to all of us should we refuse to cooperate. The best way to stay alive now was to be of whatever assistance I could. But there was something in the Dark One’s eyes that quelled my initial impulse; I got the impression that anyone so unfortunate to catch his attention would come to a bad end. As usual, my instincts were accurate.

The chauffeur bravely volunteered. The Dark One and his blonde companion made quick work of him, while Dru clapped her hands in delight. The second man stood behind me the entire time, silent and watching.

“Just so no one else gets power hungry,” the Dark One laughed, throwing the chauffeur’s body against the far wall. “Dru, honey,” he extended one hand to the raven-haired woman, “let’s go prepare for the ritual.” Dru took his hand with a shy smile and let him lead her into a parlor, the blonde woman on their heels. “Oh, Will,” the Dark One turned back, “try to get some cooperation out of the cattle, will you?” He chuckled slightly and left.

The man behind me – Will – remained stock still for a while, so quiet that for a minute I thought I had lost track of him again and he had left. Finally, however, he stepped into the center of the room.

“Right then,” he said with a fierce glint in his eyes, “who here wants to give us a hand?”

Everyone shrunk away upon his request, the sight of so many deaths still fresh in their minds; not I, though. Now that I got a good look at the fair-haired young man, I saw that he was the virtual opposite of the Dark One. The first impression he gave was rough – harsh features, angry eyes, volatile body language. But upon closer inspection, the sharp lines of his face blended into the softest of lips; and the anger in his eyes was not cold in the least, but warm with emotion; and his motions conveyed more energy than danger. In short, he was beauty hidden beneath cruelty, while the other had been cruelty beneath beauty. I mumbled beneath my gag.

He turned to me instantly, and as our eyes met for the first time, I knew I had made the right choice. They were the eyes of a true gentleman – a killer, true; but a gentleman nonetheless. He would most certainly kill me if I crossed him, but I would not be made an example. He walked back toward me with the grace of a housecat stalking its prey. It was a transparent move; he was attempting to determine whether or not I was too frightened to assist him. I was not frightened; in fact, he was quite possibly the first thing that had not frightened me since it all had begun.

“What do you do?” he demanded sternly, pulling the gag from my mouth.

“I’m a maid,” I responded.

“A maid.” He cocked one eyebrow at me incredulously and ran his eyes up and down my body. “An’ you’re gonna be useful to me…why?”

“Because I’m the only one present who is not too petrified to help you,” I replied matter-of-factly.

He looked around at the glazed eyes of my fellow prisoners and nodded. “Up you go then,” he said, pulling me to my feet. He removed a long knife from under his overcoat and neatly sliced the rope at my ankles away. He held the knife out in front of me with the barest hint of a smile.

I smiled back and took his offer, bringing the ropes about my wrists down upon the blade and cutting my hands free.

“Good girl,” he said, trying to conceal the surprise in his voice. “I need to see the linen cabinet.” He quickly reclaimed control of situation.

“Upstairs,” I informed him before leading the way.

It was most difficult to fight back my curiosity as I led him up the servants’ stairs and over to the linen closet. After all, what could our captors possibly want with linens? It had, of course, occurred to me that this was all a ruse and his true intention was to brutalize me once we were alone. His silence and agitation might have indicated to me that such was the case were it not for that earlier look we had shared.

“It’d be good ‘f we could get some o’ the others to help,” he commented as I flung the closet door open wide. “You got anythin’ darker?” he asked, holding up a pale blue set of sheets.

“That’s everything, sir,” I informed him. “The whites are on the beds right now.”

He frowned slightly and shook his head. “This’ll ‘ave to do then.” He removed a heaping pile of sheets from the cabinet and dumped them unceremoniously in my arms. “You’re ‘elpin’ me carry,” he explained, throwing another load on top. He caught hold of as many as he could as well, and together we carried our rather baffling loads back down to the sitting room.

“We’ll need two or three,” he gestured to the crowd, sorting through the linens he had appropriated.

I focused upon the task given me and spotted that one of the footmen and the gardener had somewhat recovered from their initial shock and should be able to help. “Those two,” I gestured.

He nodded, seemingly unconcerned that my choices were two such fit men, and proceeded to untie them. “These sheets,” he instructed, tossing them to the floor, “go over that window. Don’ muck it up, mates, or ‘ll get a mite nasty.” He turned to me. “You,” he said in a tone that clearly said ‘obey or die’, “make sure they do exactly what I said.”

“They may need tools,” I pointed out.

He nodded. “In the carriage house?” he guessed.

“I believe so,” I agreed.

“’ll go get ‘em,” he said. “You get ‘em to work.” And much to my disbelief, he left us alone and free.

The footman instantly went over to Miss Emma and began to fumble with her knots.

“What are you doing?” I demanded harshly.

“We have to get out here!” he insisted. “John, help me free everyone.”

“Stop!” I said with cold, hard precision. I rather pride myself on how commanding my voice can be at times. It is always rather startling to those who think me a meek, little maid. Such, apparently, was the case with these two. “We will do exactly as we were told,” I informed them.

“But we can make a run for it!” the gardener protested.

I cast an irritated eye in his direction. “Run,” I told him, “and you will be hunted down and killed like the sheep you are. You have no idea what you are trying to escape. Do you honestly believe you can outrun evil itself? Now, put that sheet up.”

My speech produced the desired results. Too dumbfounded and terrified to do anything else, they did exactly as I said. The two of them had gotten the sheet draped nicely over the window frame by the time Will returned.

“Hammers an’ nails,” he handed the implements over. “Make sure to completely cover it, an’ then fasten it up on all sides.” They misconstrued his intention a couple of times, and he had to correct their errors, but the task was accomplished with admirable celerity. “There’s more windows in the dinnin’ room without drapes,” he informed them. “We go do those next.” He turned back to me, a pleased smile on his face that I had obeyed his earlier commands. “You lot eaten yet?” he inquired.

I shook my head. “Supper was to be at eight. Your arrival seems to have…delayed it.”

He threw his head back and laughed. “Clever girl,” he said with a small smile before the gravity returned to his face and tone. “Fix it,” he instructed me. “Somethin’ simple. Don’ take too long. Grab whate’er help you need.”

I was about to do just that when our misguided footman was foolish enough to attack Will with one of the hammers. It struck his head with a nauseating squish, but our captor was not deterred in the slightest. With a howl of outrage, he spun about with blinding speed and ripped the poor footman’s head from his shoulders before he had time to react. The gardener, in one valiant last effort, rushed at him only to be lifted to the ground by his throat. His feet kicked helplessly in the air for a few seconds before the pressure on his windpipe was too great and he, too, fell into Death’s waiting arms.

It was the closest I ever came to losing myself throughout that entire perilous encounter. The footman’s head had landed right at my feet, his eyes staring up at me; and, for a moment, I would have sworn I saw him blink his eyes at me. A wave of vertigo passed through me, and I would have succumb to the vapors had Will not caught me before I could fall.

“Stay with me!” he demanded, shaking me roughly. And then, when that didn’t work, his tone softened. “’S all right now, pet,” he said reassuringly. “You’re still here. Jus’ pull yourself together so you can get a nice bite to eat, an’ everything’ll be all right.”

I became dimly aware of the strong arm around my waist and other holding my head up; the same one that had just now removed the last head it touched. I began to panic, beating ineffectively at his chest, flailing about desperately in his clutches, and sobbing that he not kill me. Amazingly, he did not. It took me a moment to realize, but then I began to calm; and suddenly his embrace didn’t feel threatening at all, but comfortable and relaxing. I quickly realized that my state of mind right then was not to be trusted and informed him that I was quite recovered and would go off to do as he asked if he would just let me go.

He complied, and soon I found myself off with Annie and two of the cooks to provide for those that had survived thus far. We decided to go the route of breakfast since the eggs were already boiled and the toast was simple to fix and returned with a banquet which, while not especially appropriate, would be enough to sustain us throughout whatever horrors the night had in store.

We came back to discover that the most recent corpses had been kindly removed, and Will had appropriated several other servants for the task of sun-proofing the house; for I had no doubt at this point that this was precisely his plan. He returned not long after I had and nodded with approval when I began feeding my fellow captives without his instructions.

Needless to say, no one had much of an appetite, but I encouraged everyone to eat what they could, saving myself for last. He retied the rest of our assistants, and together we cleaned up the leftover mess and carried it back to the kitchen.

Now, all this time, you – the reader – must have been wondering, as was I, about what our other three captors were up to. I had seen neither hide nor hair of them since they had left us earlier in the evening, and from the brief question I was able to ask from one of the remaining doormen that had assisted Will in covering the windows, neither had he. It was only once Will had turned out the lights and the silence of the night took over that I first heard the strange music coming up from the basement; no, not quite music – more like chanting, chanting of the sort I had heard the few times I had been to church as I child before my mother died. Something about that mysterious and arcane sound sent chills straight through to my very bones.

Will seemed to notice as he began to bind my hands once more, and I almost would have sworn that the hand on my shoulder gave me a reassuring squeeze. He said not a word, though, and left me bound on the floor as he went off to do something completely unknown and most probably unmentionable. He did not gag me.

I fell into sleep with surprising ease.

 _@ >–‘–,– ‘–,––_

The next morn I awoke somewhat baffled as to why the world about me was so dark. For a minute I assumed that it was still the middle of the night and settled back down to sleep; however, the events of the previous evening swiftly came back to me, and I was wide awake and alert in record time.

The first sight I beheld – and a terrible one at that – was the Dark One leaning over fair, young Emma in her sleep. I had never been particularly fond of my young Mistress; though she was scarcely more that a year my younger – to have turned sixteen in a few weeks, as I recall – we had never been close, for she did not consort with the servants in any manner. Seeing the innocent young girl in the near clutches of that brute, however, set a chill in my blood.

She, too, learned of her fate upon waking and screamed and struggled helplessly in her bonds as the Dark One lifted her up in his arms. He cooed false, insincere promises into her ears as he carried her away, and I feared for the dreadful plight of such a lovely girl.

The two women were present as well, though I saw no sign of Will. They stalked through the bound bodies huddled upon the floor, their eyes promising death and ruin to each and every one of us. The blonde’s eyes were crude and calculating, but it was the other – this ‘Dru’ – that sent shivers down my spine. Had I not guessed the previous night, I would now be certain that she was quite mad; she danced and sung and spoke to stars that only she could see, and the look in her eyes… Never had I beheld anything so inhuman, nor have I since.

They jested back and forth between them, discussing which of us would make the ripest treat for breakfast. Paralyzing fear held all the others prisoners of their spell; but not I. I had, by this point, quite thoroughly resigned myself to my fate; I did not welcome it, to be sure, but survival no longer plagued my mind: I merely wished to die in the least miserable way possible. Fortunately, this made me rather uninteresting to the two she-demons as they gathered together their kill. Although I soon realized that perhaps it was for another reason that they neglected me. For they took the men and only the men. By the time they were through, the sitting room contained only we women. I never saw any of the men alive again, and – from what I saw – they met grizzly ends.

Added to this horror were the screams of young Emma that echoed throughout the great estate. We few women that remained shed many tears for our youngest, and many prayed beneath their gags.

I, of course, remained ungaged, and I took the opportunity to inch my way over to Annie. It took great skill and more flexible use of my teeth than I knew I possessed, but I finally managed to remove her gag as well. “See to the others,” I instructed her, and so she did. In less than a quarter of an hour, we were able to speak once more. Attempts to escape the ropes that bound us in a similar manner quickly proved to be futile. At least now, however, we were able to speak amongst each other and thus glean some small comfort.

It was during this period that Annie told me her tale. There was much discussion of demons and devils, for many of the others had seen the yellowed eyes of the beasts; a few even believed that the Dark One was Lucifer himself, but I discounted all such silly notions quickly. If indeed there is a Satan, I truly doubt that he is a mere petty hoodlum.

When the door opened once more and the Dark One reemerged with a limp body in his arms, we all feared the worst for poor Emma; it was not until she was left amongst us that we realized the true depths of the evil that had taken her. She was alive, yes, but better off dead; her fair hair flowed freely over her shoulders, and her dress ripped nearly to shreds, the bloodstains upon it making it more than apparent that the wretched villain had spoilt her.

Others shied away from her weeping form, horrified at the sin she had allowed to be inflicted upon herself, but I could not but sympathize with the poor thing and moved to sit beside her. My eyes narrowed upon those who looked at her accusingly, I informed her that there was nothing she could have done to stop the monster that had befouled her; and how well I knew it was true, even if no other in the room was willing to see it.

She cried herself to sleep beside me, while I cooed to her that a forgiving God would see how she suffered and admit her into his embrace. Only a few hours later, the Dark One came for her again.

Thus, passed the first day. Hours crept by like decades as we listened to the screams of Emma and others. No salvation came to us at the end of our long trial, though, for night was upon us once more, and it is in the hours of darkness that such creatures are truly at home.

 _@ >–‘–,– ‘–,––_


	2. Chapter 2

_Day, the Second..._

With the setting of the sun, our peril increased tenfold, I knew; yet I could not help but feel heartened as well, for that was when Will returned. Our four captors gathered together amongst us in the sitting room to discuss their plan of attack, although at the time it seemed most unclear what they spoke of. The feeling of impending doom was palpable, however; it became clear that something had gone wrong, and now we were all waiting, waiting…

The form of the danger was more horrendous that I ever would have guessed; yet it seemed strangely safe compared to the menace which had held us captive for so long. A huge beast, scaled like a serpent but with claws of a lion, great fangs and a barbed tail, materialized out of nowhere just as the clock in the hall mantelpiece struck the blackest hour of midnight.

Apparently this was what we had been awaiting, for our four captors leapt to their feet, blades shinning in the dim candlelight, as they lunged at the foul beast. Their razor-sharp daggers were no match for the iridescent hide of the creature, and they glanced easily to the side. In the meantime, the dragon blew icy gusts from its nose, turning the room frigid within seconds.

The blonde lady – Darla, I gathered from the conversations I had overheard – made a most incredible bound onto the creature’s back and grabbed it roughly around the throat. It flailed wildly in her grasp, it tail whipping out at Dru. At the last second, however, Will leapt in front of her, taking the brunt of the blow himself. Together, they toppled through the front window, the sounds of breaking glass accompanying them.

The Dark One, however, took advantage of the great reptile’s distraction and lunged straight for the beast’s soft underbelly as it reared onto its hind legs. His blade plunged true and deep, and the dragon fell to ground with one last roar.

“Drusilla!” he called out to the raven-haired beauty as she rushed to rejoin them. I saw Will on his feet, but he remained outside as his three companions surrounded the body of the creature and began an unearthly chant. The words they spoke were alien, yet filled with great supernatural meaning. I watched with nothing short of complete astonishment as the dragon dissolved into a blue mist, and then the mist itself collapsed into nothing.

Will rejoined his three companions, attempting to tend to the wounded Drusilla, but she brushed aside his attentions. It was a most curious exchange, oddly human for beings known for their primal cruelty.

“A job well done,” the Dark One said with obvious delight, clapping his hands together. “Shall we celebrate?”

I shuddered at the very thought of what this animal might consider a celebration, and indeed I was not mistaken. I rarely am. The old were quickly slaughtered before our very eyes. And then, one by one the dozen or so of we women who remained were taken the same route as poor Emma. Some returned unscathed; most returned ruined; and Annie, dear Annie, returned dead, her body disfigured in ways I cannot bear to think of, even now.

I was one of the last pulled in, only two more behind me. It was Drusilla who dragged me on my now unbound feet back into what had been the Mister and Missus’ master bedroom. There I saw the missing Emma tied to the bed and stripped entirely. She bled from several cuts across her belly, but had blessedly lost consciousness.

“What have we here?” the Dark One said with false kindness in his voice as he pulled me to him roughly by the hair. “Pretty little thing, isn’t she, my boy?” This statement was directed at Will who stood at the back of the room, watching the proceedings with a calculated disinterest. He shrugged in response. “A very pretty thing,” the Dark One went on, his hands pulling the fastenings from my hair and tossing aside my service hat. Soon the wavy, auburn locks that had earned me enough keep to take on this position were exposed to his lust-filled gaze.

“Very pretty indeed,” his hands trailed down to my dress, and he ripped the fabric at my bosom in two, hoping to shame me; although, in truth, much of what I had been wearing since my father first threw me onto the streets at age thirteen was much more scandalous. The Dark One appeared perturbed of my lack of concern at his actions. He took one long sniff of the air and smiled in delight.

“A working girl,” he said in surprise. “Now, what would you be doing in a fine place like this?” I took the question as rhetorical; apparently that was how it was meant for he continued. “I can smell it, you know,” he said conversationally. “It smells as if several battalions have dipped in and out of you.”

My face flushed with anger and, yes, perhaps even a little shame. I had long played the respectable woman, and it was something of a disgrace to be brought back to my previous life so harshly.

My reaction was not enough to interest him, however, and he tossed me carelessly aside. “Bring in the next one,” he commanded. “Perhaps she will be more…virtuous.”

Will took my arm and led me from the room as Darla went to fetch the next victim. I rather expected him to return me to the others, but instead he led me to the main hall and let me rest against the wall there. I must say it was a great relief to be on my feet after so long.

“We still need your ‘elp,” he informed me. “We’ll be ‘round another day ‘t least.”

“As you wish, sir,” I nodded.

“William,” he looked into my eyes.

“William,” I agreed.

“And your name?” inquired he.

“Charlotte,” I said confidently. “Charlotte Hall.”

He looked at me quizzically. “That is not your true name,” he accused.

“Charlotte is, at least,” I declared.

“Charlotte,” he said softly, trying out the sound of it on his tongue. He looked away with a far-off look in his eyes as if pondering a great decision. “You’ve been braver than I ‘spected,” he finally commented.

“It doesn’t require bravery to stand up to that common ruffian and his whore mistress,” I retorted, perhaps unwisely.

He looked at me in utter shock and disbelief, and for a moment I feared I had gone too far and that this was my end. Instead, he laughed; an honest, heartfelt laugh of delight.

“You’re a spirited l’il filly, aren’t ya?” he responded to my look. His expression then turned somber. “Wouldn’t let Angelus in on that, though,” he said softly, approaching me and running his fingers through my loosened hair. “’e takes all the wild ones an’ breaks ‘em.” His body was close to mine now, the chill of his breath sending goosebumps up and down my spine, and for the first time I noticed how unnaturally cool his body was; it felt odd, but not unpleasant in the least.

“And what do you do to the wild ones?” I demanded impertinently.

He chuckled softly. “Care to find out, luv?” he asked huskily, his eyebrow raising in a suggestive manner.

“You don’t fool me,” I retorted. “You are too much the gentleman to take advantage.”

“Oh?” He looked singularly displeased now. “An’ wot exactly makes you say that?” he demanded, his accent thickening as if on cue.

“I have heard many such as yourself,” I informed him. “Gentlemen who try to conceal their sins by pretending to be lower than they truly are.”

“’m no gentleman,” he countered, “not anymore.”

I gave him a studious look. “You are,” I finally decided. “It is not something you change.”

“No?” he growled, grabbing my hair roughly and pulling me until my face was mere millimeters from his.

“No,” I said calmly when I saw his eyes soften with hesitation. He roughly shoved me aside.

“I’d kill you in a heartbeat,” he declared.

“I have no doubt,” said I, “but you will not violate me.”

He cocked his head at me and just stared for a while, those brilliant blue eyes of his looking as though they were piercing my very soul. “He was wrong,” he said at last. “You’re not pretty…you’re beautiful, Charlotte.”

I blushed. Even now I cannot believe it. Never before had a man’s favor produced such a reaction in me, and now was hardly the time for it to begin; but I could not stop myself. His reaction was no less shocking. He hung his head nervously, the uncertainty and vulnerability creeping into his usually confident body language.

“Thank you, William,” I finally managed to breathe out.

In a second he was his usual self again, and I nearly wondered if I had seen the change in him at all. “Angelus’ll be done soon.” He grabbed me by the arm with no hint of his earlier tenderness. “You must feed the others again.”

“Keeping your livestock well fed?” I accused.

He did not answer, and soon I had gathered the only other three women to escape Angelus’ clutches unscathed to prepare a last meal.

You will notice, dear reader, that I no longer refer to Angelus and ‘the Dark One’. There is great reason for this fact. Quite frankly, after my brief encounter with him, I felt that he had no longer earned the title. A great name is reserved for a great man, whether wonderful or terrible; but Angelus was no great villain, merely a pretender to the throne, and I would no longer give him the honor he so desperately craved.

Supper was even less filling than the previous night’s, and soon after we had finished, our four captors returned for their late night snack. The victims were four of those that had been foolish enough to fall asleep; I myself had decided that adopting the nocturnal schedule of our captors was a prudent move and thus escaped a gruesome end. I will not say it was easy to watch my William with the face of the beast devouring one of the chambermaids; but the look he gave me afterward was wrenching, as if it had been just as hard for him to eat before me.

Angelus and Darla had returned to the bedroom and a very much broken Emma soon thereafter, leaving Drusilla and William to stand watch over we few who remained. We had all been unbound for the first time, perhaps because it amused Angelus to see us so close to escape yet still helpless; however, this did require that we have constant supervision.

For William this took the form of lying back on the ottoman, lit cigarette dangling between his fingers, as he watched Drusilla’s more tactile approach. Once again, she wove to the crowd, dancing that unearthly dance of hers that we had all come to dread. One by one, she would look deep into our eyes, and the melodious sound of her voice would snatch away all our fears and qualms until we saw a vision of such blinding beauty that it seemed as if Heaven itself had opened up before us; and each time, the vision would slip from our grasp as she moved on to her next victim, leaving us each in a pit of despair.

In turn, she cast her magic on us all until there was not one left, and then her eyes turned to William with a sly smile. He raised an interested eyebrow as she wound her way over to him with the grace of a ballerina, and a smile crept upon his own face when she settled down in his lap.

“And what is your deepest desire, my sweet Spike?” she cooed to him seductively, running finely manicured hands through his fair hair. “Shall I find out?” she cocked her head to one side curiously.

The twitch upon the edge of his full lips spread into a full-fledged smile. “You know what I desire, my love,” he whispered in a thrilling tenor.

She let out a lilting hum and bent her head so that her lips just barely brushed his. His arms moved up to wrap around her back and pull her close, but one of her hands snaked in between them, frustrating his efforts.

“Bad boy,” she scolded him, the finger she held to his lips hushing him. “Not without Daddy’s permission…” And with that, she rose once more to her feet and twirled about merrily.

William, on the other hand, looked quite vexed but kept his troubles to himself. “Need to get the window boarded up again,” he commented, gesturing to where the earlier destruction ripped aside the linens, exposing the sitting room to the elements outside. He turned to me. “Care for another sheet run?”

I nodded and rose to my feet. I heard several whispers as I passed about my eagerness to consort with the enemy, but I purposefully ignored them and walked proudly past. William seemed to be taking as much time as he could ascending the stairs, and I soon deduced what he dreaded to return to.

“You love her?” I inquired, already knowing the answer to my question.

He looked at me abruptly as if he had been unaware of my presence, so wrapped up was he with introspection. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Very much.”

“And she does not love you?”

A low growl like that of a great jungle cat escaped his lips, yet I was not afraid; I do not think he could have done anything at that point that would have frightened me.

“She does not,” he finally agreed with a regretful sigh.

“You court her well,” I commented in an effort to raise his spirits. “One day she will see it.”

He gave me a fond smile and dug haphazardly through the linen closet, obviously paying little attention to his actions. “Tha’s what I keep tellin’ myself.”

“You are wise then.”

“Angelus doesn’t think so. He calls me a fool,” countered he.

“And who is to say that Angelus isn’t the fool?” I retorted.

He laughed. “You, I suppose.” He handed me several of the thicker sheets.

“What happened here tonight?” I asked curiously.

“Old enemy of Angelus’,” he said brusquely. “Tried to lock it out with spells. Din’t work. Turned into that dragon thing you saw. It died. Problem solved.”

I waited in silence for a time while he searched for more, until finally the courage welled up in me to ask him what I had been wondering for so long. “What will become of us?” I said so quietly that at first I was not sure he heard.

He kept his back to me for a time, continuing his work, and I feared that on this point I had pushed the bounds of our – I will not say quite ‘friendship’ – association too far. At long last, however, he finally spoke, the kindness in his voice belying the dreadful words he spoke.

“Before we go,” he began with some sadness, “you’ll all be killed.”

“I will die then?” Though my tone was inquiring, the statement was intended to be a fact and he took it as such.

He paused to look at me, and tentatively his hand reached out to brush a lock of my long, auburn hair behind my ear. “’m sorry,” he whispered tenderly, his thumb brushing my lips.

“As am I,” I agreed, “though I have long resigned myself to this fact.”

He let out a wry chuckle. “Y’know,” he began, “’ve never really cared ‘bout what happened to a human before. Always kinda considered ‘em a nice midnight snack.”

I managed to smile at the slight humor in his voice.

The rest of his speech was made with all seriousness, however. “But I don’ really want to see anythin’ bad happen to you. I wish…” He trailed off and sighed.

“What?” I pressed him. “What do you wish?”

“That you din’t have to die like this,” he finally finished. “That I could do somethin’ to save you…”

“I do not blame you,” I reassured him.

“Thank you,” he said with a small smile, lifting his load as well. “Seems strangely familiar, ‘ey pet?” he jested lightly.

“Déjà vu,” I nodded with a slight smile on my own face. “I am glad I met you,” I finally confessed, my face flushing for all the world as if I were an innocent schoolgirl. “If I have to die,” I clarified, “I am glad I met you first.”

He did not respond while we walked down the stairs or over to the sitting room. Only when we were outside the doors did he speak once more. “I might not be there,” he informed me. “’m still young, an’ I sleep during the day, so they might…while ‘m asleep.”

“Perhaps this is good-bye then,” I said sadly.

He frowned. “Perhaps…” he said uncertainly and then opened the doors.

The two of us hung the sheets without assistance, maintaining our silence throughout. Drusilla, meanwhile, lay on the rug in the center of the room, staring up at the ceiling and speaking in the same riddles she always did. William left when we were finished. A short time later, Angelus and Darla returned, and those of us that remained were retied for the day while the rest of our captors went off about their ways.

Sleep eluded me for the longest time. Knowing that one’s death is imminent yet being unable to prevent it is a terrible thing. Eventually the weariness of the past two nights did settle over me, and I slept throughout most of the day…

 _@ >–‘–,– ‘–,––_

I awoke to find myself being wrapped in a firm embrace. Out of habit, I struggled against my attacker until he caught my chin and forced me to look into his eyes.

“William…” I whispered in amazement.

“Silence,” he ordered, his tone icy.

I did as he requested, too flabbergasted to do much else. He lifted me into his arms as if I weighed nothing more than a rag doll and took off with such dizzying speed I thought I should pass out. Thus it was that I had not time to focus upon our destination until we had already arrived.

At some point in our flight we must have descended a flight of stairs, for we were now in the cellar, in a dark, damp section of the house seldom used. I watched as William pulled aside a heavy bolted door. The room beyond had originally been built to protect the more aristocratic element in past times when the peril to such individuals had been much greater – or so I had been told. Now it served as a sort of wine cellar.

My William carried me inside and set me gently down on the floor before using his knife to unbind me. “Stay here,” he instructed me. “’m gonna lock the door behind me. Don’ make any noise until someone comes down here from the constabulary. ‘m leavin’ you this knife.” He pulled one stolen from the kitchen out of his pocket and set it on a nearby shelf. “They ask, an’ you nabbed that an’ used it to untie yourself.”

“You are saving me,” I exclaimed in disbelief.

“Hush,” he said softly. “I don’ think they’ll miss you. They’re not really keepin’ that close a body count to tell the truth.”

“You will leave with them?”

“They’re my family,” he replied simply.

A gave him a grateful smile. “Good luck.”

“You, too.” He stood up to his feet and turned to the door.

I rose shakily as well, once again letting the blood return to my ankles. I froze there for a minute, debating what I should do and finally went with my instincts.

“You would not kiss me?” I asked boldly.

He stopped and turned slowly to face me, an unreadable expression on his face. “Would you have me kiss you?” he finally asked in a voice far nobler and more fitting to his true position in life than his adopted accent.

He prowled over toward me with a stealthy grace, and I was once more reminded of what a dangerous creature he was – dangerous, but beautiful. He stood right in front of me now and casually propped himself up against the wall, one hand on either side of my head, effectively trapping me in place. Those pure azure eyes stared into the very depths of my being.

Slowly, I licked my lips. “I w-would,” I finally managed in a shaking whisper.

And faster than I even had time to react he was upon me, his arms gripping me tightly around the waist and his mouth upon mine, desperately and passionately.

I have been kissed many times in my day. It had always seemed a somewhat pleasurable activity to engage in, although nothing to make a fuss about. That day I learned how wrong I was and how mind-blowing the experience could truly be. His lips were firm and demanding, coaxing mine into a sensual rhythm. I felt the world slip out from under me, and had it not been for his arm at my waist I would have swooned. One always hears whispers on the street about the forbidden talents those who walk on the dark side possess, and I instantly knew all such rumors to be true; no human man could ever kiss me the way he did.

When he finally pulled back, I nearly fell, slumping back against the wall in an effort to maintain my balance. My heart pounded, and my boson heaved with rapid, gasping breaths. His hand trailed in my hair for once last second before he stepped from the wine cellar.

“Good-bye, dear Charlotte,” he said.

“Farewell, sweet William,” I replied.

And then I heard the door shut and lock, leaving me alone in the dark…

 _@ >–‘–,– ‘–,––_

I did not know at the time how long I stayed locked up. It seemed as if days had passed before I finally heard voices outside. I quickly assessed that they were, indeed, those of my saviors, and I shouted and pounded upon the door frantically, the irrational fear that they should not hear me and I would remain locked away to starve clouding my normally clear judgement.

I was the only survivor.

I learned this fact from my hospital bed, the doctors insisting that after such a great trauma that I should not rise for at least a month. Emma had finally received her blessed release still chained to the bed. The sitting room had been the site of the massacre of all the rest that had been alive when William had saved me. I learned that the men who had been taken from us the first night had died gruesome deaths almost immediately thereafter, their bodies violated much as the women’s had been. After the fact, it seemed much more of a shock than it had been at the time.

Of course, everyone wanted to know the miraculous tale of my survival, and I flawlessly portrayed the tale William had set up for me. I informed Scotland Yard that I had angered one of my captors early on, and I had been locked in the cellar as punishment. I finally cut myself free with the knife I had procured from the kitchen, but I was still locked in. In the flurry of escape, my captors must have completely forgotten about me, and thus I had survived by sheer luck.

And what did I say of my captors? Only that there were four, and I never got much of a look at them. I debated mentioning that two were women, but I knew I should probably be dubbed delirious if I did so, and strangely I feared that this fact might lead them to my William, even though I knew creatures such as he was lived almost entirely outside the law and society.

To say that my experience was harrowing would be a vast understatement. I was not so calm about it at the time as I may see today. Indeed, I spent many months recovering, and many years cringing instinctively at the sound of the door, fearing lest another group of such strangers arrive.

It was not all for the bad for me, however. A curious clause was discovered within the Westings’ will. It listed the usual heirs as such: their daughter, several relatives – with a small sum reserved to be split among the servants should they be in the Mister and Missus’ employ upon their untimely death. All those on the list save me had been slaughtered by our four captors. Thus is was that the final clause of the will – the one that stated that should any of the other beneficiaries perish as well, that the Westing fortune be redivided among those remaining – made me a very rich woman.

There was scandal, of course. A mere commoner inheriting the whole of the Westing Estate including the Manor? Outrageous! The outcry would have been even stronger had any of them known my original profession.

But, in the end, even those who objected most severely could not deny someone who had suffered as I had her reward.

I kept on the Manor and have lived in it ever since. The leisure it afforded me allowed me to follow pursuits I had never before dreamed I could achieve. My scholarly studies took up many years, and it is thanks to them that I am able to write this memoir with the grace and precision that is fitting to such a work.

There is not a day that goes by that I do not see the faces of those that died. My grief was long-lasting indeed. But there was one face from those few days that was imprinted permanently upon my mind and heart, and often I found myself pining for my William and wondering of his fate.

But, all in all, the Terror at Westing Manor brought about a positive change in my life. While I may abhor the means, I cannot hate the manner of my life today.

 _@ >–‘–,– ‘–,––_


	3. Chapter 3

_Ten Years Later..._

But that is not the end to my strange and supernatural tale, dear reader. For my final vampiric encounter – and I had learned that this was what the four were in my intervening studies: vampires – occurred on November the third, 1902, only two days before my twenty-seventh birthday.

As a somewhat respected and most certainly wealthy member of the rural community, the annual celebration had blossomed to become a rather trying sequence of events, including several balls and numerous dinners.

It was after one such dinner that I returned to my bedchamber, pleading fatigue, only to feel strong hands grip me from behind, pulling me back into the shadows. One hand clasped firmly in front of my mouth, muffling all my cries, while the other held me so firmly in place that I did not long have doubt that my captor possessed preternatural strength. I quelled my struggles as my suspicions as to the identity of my attacker grew.

“You remember me then, Charlotte?” a rough voice I had nearly forgotten in the intervening years asked.

“William?” I exclaimed in surprised when he removed his hand. “It has been ten years.” He released me, and I turned to see the spitting image of the man I had kissed so long ago in that dank cellar. “You have not aged a day!” I admit I was somewhat astonished even though I knew such was the nature of his kind.

He shrugged and delighted me with that shy smile of his. “You seem pleased to see me,” he commented, “an’ you’ve aged but…you’ve grown even more beautiful over the years…”

I flushed just as I had when I was but a girl. “I am delighted to see you,” I quickly reassured him. “Only…you did not bring your ‘family’?” I asked warily.

He let out a deep roar of laughter. “’m alone,” he informed me.

My smile widened. “Then my delight is that much greater.” I walked over to the nightstand and began removing the elaborate fastenings in my hair. “You accent has improved over the years,” I told him.

He looked pleased at this. “An’ you sound quite the lady,” he sat down beside me, and I watched our reflection curiously – although, perhaps it is more accurate to say my reflection, for he cast none.

“I know what you are now,” said I.

“Oh?” He raised an eyebrow at me, and I quickly realized that he was not entirely unchanged. A jagged scar now split once had once been a perfect brow.

“Your eye…” I said in alarm, reaching out tentatively to touch the scar.

He flinched away as if by instinct, but then held himself in place and gently shut his eyes as I lightly stroked the path of the faded cut.

“’S nothin’,” he insisted in that way all gentlemen do when they do not wish their ladies to fuss over them.

I allowed my hand to move lower to caress his cheek, and he emitted a strange sound almost like that of a large cat purring. “William,” I said softly, “why have you come back here tonight?”

He opened his eyes to look into mine, and his hand gently caught mine, bringing it to his lips. “You know why,” he responded softly. “I jus’ wanted to know if…”

“Hush,” I silenced him with a finger to the lips, and he kissed it reverently.

In my deepest fantasies I had always pictured how it would happen that I would kiss him again. The actual experience was more than I ever could have dreamed. We explored with lips and hands, and he lifted me up in his arms just as he had all though years ago, but now his destination was far more romantic. I landed softly on the bed and held out my hand for him to join me.

And that night my William and I loved each other for the first time…

 _@ >–‘–,– ‘–,––_

You no doubt think me the most damned of all sinners for taking a demon into my bed and bosom; but, I ask you, was what I did truly any worse than the dozens of men I pleasured on the streets for no more than whatever shillings they had? I will never claim to be a virtuous woman, but he was the last man I ever loved with my body, and the only I have ever loved with my heart.

Later, as we rested in each other’s arms enjoying the aftereffects of conjugal bliss, I finally inquired as to what had happened to his family.

“Angelus an’ Darla ran off with their own problems,” said he with a slight chuckle. “’m the man o’ the house now, so to speak.”

“The pretender and the harlot are gone then?”

He let out a joyous, resonant laugh at this characterization of his two companions. “Never too fond o’ them, were you, luv?”

I wrinkled my nose and laughed myself. We enjoyed a comfortable silence before I finally completed my question. “And Drusilla?”

He let out a deep sigh. “Accordin’ to your rules,” he explained in response to my confused expression, “’ve taken her to wife.”

I was indeed startled at this. “Then why are you here?” I queried.

He wrapped one arm around my shoulders and pulled me close. “My people don’ exactly treat marriage the same way yours do,” he began. “’S actually kind o’ ‘spected. Dru’s off right now with some bloke I can’t stand, an’ she won’ even let me rip ‘is throat out afterwards…”

“I am revenge then?” I demanded, although not at all angry as I should have been given the circumstances.

“No,” he said simply, his lips plundering mine once more and once and for all removing any doubt I might have had as to the depths of his affections. “My dear, Charlotte,” he whispered after pulling away and resting his forehead against mine. “I could give you my kiss, you know…”

“I thought I already had it,” I jested.

He smiled wanly. “My other kiss.” His fingers traced the curve of my throat with veneration. “I could make you young forever…like me.”

“But not yours,” I added softly. “Not truly.”

He shook his head sadly.

“Let me see your face,” I requested. “Your other face.”

He looked at me, surprised, but did as I requested, and I could feel the planes of his face shift beneath my fingers.

“Amazing,” I whispered with a hint of terror in my voice. I discovered the scar remained intact on his brow and caressed it lovingly. “But strangely beautiful,” I concluded, looking deep into golden eyes, “just like you.”

“I will make you like me if you wish it,” he offered, speaking for once as the nobleman he was.

“You have given me this life,” I gently informed him. “It is yours to take if you wish. But I think I should like to live it out.”

He shut his eyes – disappointed, I knew, but also not finding my decision unexpected in the least. “If ‘d met you first…” he began.

I quieted him with another kiss and told him once more of my love. Thinking not of the fact that soon we should never see each other again, we enjoyed each other’s company throughout the remainder of the night. I did offer to let him spend the hours of deadly sunlight under my safekeeping, but he refused, preferring to take his leave from me in the early hours of the morning before the dawn, instead.

“This is good-bye then, my William,” I said with a tear in my eye as he sat on the windowsill in preparation for his departure.

He wiped it away with his thumb. “No one calls me that anymore, y’know,” he said with a slight smile. “’m Spike now.”

“Spike.” I did not like the sound of it on my lips. “It’s a bit crass, isn’t it? But it fits your persona well.”

“’ll always be William for you,” he responded. “’ll think of you from time to time, my dear Charlotte…”

“Then my love for you will live forever.”

He nodded and leaned in to give me one final kiss. “Farewell,” he whispered before dropping from the window into the darkness below. I flatter myself that I saw his movement as he climbed the garden wall, but it was most probably just an early morning breeze; creatures of the night are rarely discernable while in the element.

In any case, that was the last night I ever saw my William.

I will not lie to you and say that in the decades that passed I did not ever question my decision; the ravages of old age swept away my youthful beauty; I lacked for male companionship above all else. But I find some comfort in knowing that my love is out there still, and long after the memory of all those around me has passed, there will be one that still remembers that one young girl that was foolish enough give her heart to a demon.

 _@ >–‘–,– ‘–,––_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Notes from the Editor:
> 
> This ‘chapter’ is just a compilation of author’s notes for the entire story. You see, I got this strange idea in my head that putting the notes in with the main text would detract from the ambience. Yes, occasionally I do get these bizarre, artistic moods. The best thing for you to do is just mutter “oh gods, she’s pretentious!” and then just wait for them to blow over. It usually happens pretty quickly. ~_^
> 
> And – speaking of bizarre, artistic moods – what’s with this story, anyway? Well, it kind of started out as your typical ‘Day In the Life of the Fanged Four’ thing, and then I got this idea to tell the story from the point of view of one of the victims. I pretty much already had the Victorian setting, so I figured ‘hey, why not have a go at writing one of those Victorian memoir/romance type thingies?’ As you can see, my internal monologues are quite eloquent. And it was actually a lot of fun to try and write that way. So, yes, the er…flowery writing style is intentional. (And I do know you’re all waving pitchforks in my general direction for making you plow through those long, contorted sentences. ^_^)
> 
> But, really, I’m very curious as to what people thought of this style. Anyone who’s familiar with the Victorian style stuff I was imitating, please, tell me how I did. And to everyone else, was this story readable?
> 
> I’m also curious about your opinion of the main character. I am aware that she’s a technical Mary Sue, and I usually avoid doing those, but I really enjoyed telling things from an atypical perspective. And, trust me, she’s not an idealization of myself in any way. So, tell me if you thought she works/doesn’t work/whatever.
> 
> I think that’s generally it. This story, when completed, will have three parts: the two days of the ‘incident’ and an interlude from several years later. Just in case you’re wondering whether it’s finished or not. (I’ll keep bumping back this note so that it’s always the last chapter, so don’t get confused by that. ~_^)
> 
> So, please, send me your feedback on this one if you actually read through it. Because this really was an unusual experiment for me, and I’m dying to know what you all think of it.
> 
> And, as always, all standard copyright disclaimers apply.
> 
> Thanks once again for putting up with my peculiarities!  
> ~Kantayra
> 
> @>–‘–,– ‘–,––


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